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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26385859">home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/redremembrance/pseuds/redremembrance'>redremembrance</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:13:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26385859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/redremembrance/pseuds/redremembrance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>may we meet again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bellamy can remember the first time he stared into Clarke Griffin’s eyes.</p><p>Angry, sharp blue eyes. Brutal and soft all at once.</p><p>Had he loved her then? Had she loved him? Had either of them known?</p><p>They had been so young.</p><p>So very, very young.</p><p>Hurtling through space towards a planet that would try to kill them a hundred times over. Nothing to cling to but each other. So angry they couldn’t breathe.</p><p>And so committed to surviving, first, last, always.</p><p>Surviving.</p><p>It doesn’t hurt. Not anymore.</p><p>It’s just the panic, even now, even after he has faced so many fears for so many years. Since he was a child hiding his sister beneath the floor, rocking her desperately, begging her not to cry. Begging her not to die.</p><p>But when blood fills up your lungs, it’s hard not to panic. He saw her run. Angry, sharp blue eyes. Brutal and soft all at once.</p><p>The rest is a blur. The rest is confetti.</p><p>Planets swirl in his vision, more worlds than he had dreamed of when he was a child trapped on a space ship. Worlds upon worlds.</p><p>And her.</p><p>Always her.</p><p>He’s coughing. Blood soaking through his lungs.</p><p>Why is she leaving?</p><p>
  <em>Why is she leaving? </em>
</p><p>The rest is a blur. The rest is confetti.</p><p>He doesn’t remember.</p><p>And he’s cold.</p><p>He’s so damn cold.</p><p>Why can’t he remember how he got here? The worm hole. The explosion. The community. The notebook. The future. The planets. The people, the bunkers, the blood, the blood, the blood.</p><p>And Clarke.</p><p>Always, always Clarke.</p><p>He can’t see much anymore. Can’t feel his fingers. It’s just the blood, filling up his lungs.</p><p>But he can hear her.</p><p>Does she remember? That first week on earth, stumbling around on new legs unused to their beautiful, hostile world. That boy—the one whose name he can hardly remember—he was hurt. He was dying. And Clarke sang to him, soft and brutal all at once. Plunged her small knife into his carotid artery and let him bleed into the soil beneath him.</p><p>A mercy kill.</p><p>Is he bleeding into that same soil? All those memories of traveling worlds with her, are they just a dream? A wild hope?</p><p>Can it be that he lived, that he fought with her and held onto her and called her every day for the five years they spent apart? Can it be? <em>Can it be? </em></p><p>“Clarke,” he says.</p><p>He isn’t sure if the name makes it to his lips.</p><p>He can’t feel his lips.</p><p>Bellamy never realized it took so goddamn long to die. He sucks in a breath, but he can’t. He can’t breathe. He’s drowning, drowning in his own damn blood.</p><p>Clarke.</p><p>This time he says it. He knows he does.</p><p>Because look at her. She’s here. Soft and brutal all at once. Blue eyes glowing. Looking at him the way she has across worlds.</p><p>They have broken the world together. Fixed it, or tried to.</p><p><em>This is how we do better</em>.</p><p>Did she want to do better? Had she ever?</p><p>But he loved her. He loved her, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t.</p><p>He’s colder now. There’s nothing but dark, but he’s still here, eyes wide open staring at a sky he’ll never see again. He’s still here.</p><p>She’s beside him, he thinks.</p><p>Clarke will walk with him into the dark.</p><p>She <em>has </em>to be here.</p><p>He can’t do this alone.</p><p>He is just a boy, begging his sister not to cry. He is just a boy, falling to earth in a spaceship, clinging to the fact that his sister is here. That he can protect her. He is just a boy, fighting for his life, his freedom, his survival. Leading a group of them—Murphy with that damn kissable smirk, Jasper with his wild laugh, Octavia, hopeful back then, and Monty and Harper and everyone else—when he wasn’t sure he was meant to, able to. He is terrified. He is so damn terrified.</p><p>And she is shoulder to shoulder with him, giving him courage. Forgiving him a hundred times over. Loving him a hundred times over.</p><p>It’s almost over.</p><p>He knows that.</p><p>A few more breaths now, and then he can go.</p><p>But he has to tell her first—has to tell her—</p><p>That he—</p><p><em>Clarke</em>, he tries again. A whisper, a scream.</p><p>He just wants her to know.</p><p>And then everything is quiet.</p><p>Not the quiet of a wormhole, not the quiet of the empty expanse of space, not the quiet static of a radio that won’t reach Clarke.</p><p>No, it’s a warmer quiet. Surrounding him like safety. Like peace.</p><p>And that is how he knows he has gone, and left Clarke behind. All the ways he fought to reach her, and now, finally, he is beyond her reach.</p><p>But there are hands on his, helping him up. There are eyes he recognizes.</p><p>It is hazy, this place.</p><p>But it looks something like a camp he once built at the edge of a cruel wilderness with 99 other desperate children.</p><p><em>Ai hom</em>, someone murmurs.</p><p>And it’s Lincoln, his brown eyes as deep and calm and steady as they had been in life.</p><p><em>I’m sorry</em>, Bellamy says.</p><p>He can remember more of it now. The rain and the mud and the click of a gun. The look in Octavia’s eyes, light dying. Light dying.</p><p><em>Do not keep your sorrow for me</em>, Lincoln says, his voice gentle. <em>I forgave you a hundred times. And she did, too. She forgave you again and again. </em></p><p>There are tears on his face, something he did not expect here.</p><p><em>Where are we? </em>He asks Lincoln.</p><p><em>Where does it look like to you? </em>Lincoln asks.</p><p><em>Camp</em>, he says. <em>The first one. The one we built. Before anyone else came down from the sky. When it was just the hundred of us. </em></p><p><em>Ah</em>, says Lincoln. <em>Ah. I remember. </em></p><p>
  <em>Bellamy. </em>
</p><p>Another voice, one bright and wild as it had not been even in life, at least not since…mount weather.</p><p>Jasper.</p><p>Goggles dangling from one hand. Mouth quirked towards the sky.</p><p><em>Jasper</em>, Bellamy says. He wants to hold him, crush him against his chest like he had longed to do in all the years when Jasper gave up, faded away from them, laughed at death like it was an old friend.</p><p>But it is Jasper who reaches for him, pulls him into an embrace.</p><p><em>I’m sorry</em>, he is telling Jasper, but Jasper brushes hair from his face.</p><p><em>Let it go</em>, Jasper says. <em>We are here. We are here, you damn idiot. We are together again. </em></p><p>Harper and Monty crash into him as one, their arms tight.</p><p>He’s surrounded, and they’re laughing and crying on his shoulder.</p><p><em>Thank you for caring for our baby</em>, Harper says.</p><p><em>But I didn’t</em>, Bellamy says. <em>Not well. Not well. </em></p><p>Monty’s eyes are gentle, less haunted than they had been in life. <em>Brother, </em>he says. <em>You were everything we hoped for</em>.</p><p>
  <em>You’re here. </em>
</p><p>A new voice.</p><p>The clearing, the camp, the not-sky above it darkens and then brightens, filling with a hundred thousand stars. And then Lexa is there, spear in hand, face painted, jaw set.</p><p><em>Lexa</em>, he whispers.</p><p>Clarke had never stopped loving her. Never stopped grieving her.</p><p><em>Thank you</em>, Lexa says, and there is grief and joy and wonder in a face that used to be stone cold. <em>Thank you for caring for her</em>.</p><p>And he had tried. <em>Oh,</em> he had tried.</p><p>The others step back, and she steps forward slowly. Embraces him at last.</p><p><em>We loved her</em>, she says. <em>And she loved us. </em></p><p>The rest is a blur. The rest is confetti.</p><p><em>We did</em>, he says.</p><p><em>We do</em>, Lexa corrects.</p><p>Always and forever.</p><p><em>We were the memories that kept her with us</em>, Lexa told him. <em>We were what saved her. You. Me. </em></p><p>Is it possible to have two great loves of your life?</p><p>Perhaps.</p><p>Perhaps.</p><p>The rest is a blur.</p><p>The rest is confetti.</p><p><em>Where do we go next? </em>Bellamy asks them, but he wants to stare at their faces forever, drink them in. He will never be sick of it, not until he has seen so much of them that the years he spent without them are nothing but a distant memory. <em>Can I stay with you? Will you stay with me? </em></p><p><em>Always, </em>Lincoln said.</p><p><em>We never left you</em>, Jasper says. <em>Dumbass. </em></p><p>Monty snorts. <em>You promised you’d behave</em>, he says.</p><p>Jasper blows Monty a kiss, and Harper rolls her eyes.</p><p>Bellamy’s chest tightens. He loves them. He’s here, he’s with them, he’s looking at their beautiful dumb face and it’s too much, and still, and <em>still—</em></p><p>He misses the rest of them so fiercely.</p><p>Clarke and Raven and Emori and Echo and Murphy.</p><p><em>Will we meet again? </em>He wants to ask, but he doesn’t dare. The words are sacred. They do not belong to him, not anymore and not yet.</p><p>
  <em>Son. </em>
</p><p>And it’s Kane there in front of him, eyes warm in the gathering dark.</p><p><em>You made it</em>.</p><p>Bellamy is trembling now.</p><p>They had lost Kane. Lost him so irrevocably and Bellamy had not had a moment to grieve him.</p><p><em>I’m sorry</em>, he finds himself saying, again and again and again. <em>I’m sorry. </em></p><p>For all he had done and all he had failed to do. For all he had hurt and broken. For all he had tried and failed to mend. For being too much and not enough. For being.</p><p>But Marcus Kane is holding him, one hand cupping Bellamy’s head to his chest, and there is something in Bellamy’s chest that is, finally, mending.</p><p><em>Where are we? </em>Bellamy asks, finally, when he is ready to speak again.</p><p><em>Between</em>, Kane says.</p><p><em>We came to walk with you</em>, Lexa says.</p><p><em>You have never been alone</em>, Lincoln tells him.</p><p><em>Where do we go next? </em>Bellamy asks, but he glances over his shoulder again, because this is both a reunion and a loss. He loves them, he loves them, he loves them. But—</p><p>Clarke.</p><p>Octavia.</p><p><em>Octavia</em>.</p><p>Lincoln places a palm against Bellamy’s chest.</p><p><em>She knows</em>, Lincoln says. <em>I promise you, she knows. </em></p><p><em>You will see her again, </em>Harper promises gently.</p><p>Lincoln’s eyes fill with longing. <em>We will. We will see her again, and we will have the rest of time for apologies and remembering and moving on. We will. I promise. </em></p><p><em>Do I have to go? </em>Bellamy asks, and it is childish, this fear, this uncertainty.</p><p>Kane’s hand is on his shoulder. <em>You do, </em>he says softly. <em>I’m sorry. I know you weren’t ready. </em></p><p><em>People seldom are</em>, Jasper says.</p><p><em>You were, </em>Bellamy says. <em>Weren’t you? </em></p><p>But Jasper shakes his head <em>no</em>. <em>No</em>, he says. <em>I wasn’t. And that’s the tragedy of it, isn’t it? We’re never ready. Even when we think we are.</em></p><p>Bellamy is weeping again. Weeping because he didn’t save any of them. Weeping because he couldn’t.</p><p>Lexa steps forward. <em>We cannot return to her</em>, she says. <em>We can love her from here. Wanheda will find us when she is ready. </em></p><p>
  <em>Wanheda. </em>
</p><p>Commander of death.</p><p>But she wasn’t that, not to him. Blue eyes. Soft and brutal all at once.</p><p>He has loved her across centuries and worlds.</p><p>He has left her behind.</p><p><em>It will be beautiful</em>, Lincoln says.</p><p><em>Does it hurt? </em>Bellamy asks, childish again. Fearful again.</p><p><em>No</em>, Monty tells him gently. <em>Not even a little. Like falling asleep. </em></p><p>
  <em>And you won’t leave me? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Never. </em>
</p><p>Behind Bellamy, the world fades. The camp with it. The sky and the planets and the ships.</p><p>There is something else, something more and better and different, and he takes a step forward.</p><p>In the distance, he can hear Clarke singing. Can see her, just there, on the other side of a veil he can nearly reach through. It’s Clarke, <em>his </em>Clarke.</p><p>Soft and brutal.</p><p>Eyes he could never look away from.</p><p>Is it the future, perhaps? She is huddled, sobs shaking her body. She is drawing him in charcoal, deep shadows around his eyes. She loves him. She loves him.</p><p>The rest is a blur. The rest is confetti.</p><p>He steps away from her, Lincoln and Lexa and Harper and Monty and Jasper and Kane beside him. He whispers the words, and he knows they reach her.</p><p>
  <em>May we meet again. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the fix-it version of this is coming later this week, kids. don't worry</p></blockquote></div></div>
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